


Mirrorball: I've never been a natural, all I do is try

by bccalling



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Post-Season/Series 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25541596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bccalling/pseuds/bccalling
Summary: It's been six months since Ian and Mickey had their perfect wedding. It's also been six months since two kids had been essentially dropped in their laps. Mickey's getting shit done. Ian’s maybe missing his husband a little.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 25
Kudos: 261





	Mirrorball: I've never been a natural, all I do is try

**Author's Note:**

  * For [atir8891](https://archiveofourown.org/users/atir8891/gifts).



> Happy 6 months to these two assholes.
> 
> Also, the biggest thanks ever in the whole world to sickness-health-all-that-shit, who made me the prettiest gifset that I love with all my heart. 💜 This one's for you, in gratitude for everything you do, but especially for that gorgeous gifset. It was absolutely perfect, and I so appreciate all the hard work you put into it.
> 
> And apparently, this fic was waiting for Taylor Swift's "Mirrorball," which ended up being the soundtrack for me, and is, of course, the source of the title. The third verse mimics the type of controlled chaos I was trying to represent here, and it helped me get a handle on those scenes.

* * *

It's too fucking early in the morning, and Mickey's alarm never has a chance to sound. Instead, an eager Franny finds her way into their room way too fucking early and manages to climb up onto the bed to shake at their shoulders while she sings the words _get up, get up, get up, get up_ over and over again. 

At Franny's antics, Mickey groans loudly in irritation, pressing his fingers into his eyes and letting out a harsh sigh. "What the _fuck_ , Fran?" he murmurs on a whine, and Ian can't help but smile. For a second, Ian considers scolding him for the cussing, but Franny cuts him off.

" _No_ swears, Uncle Mickey!" Franny chastises, eyes wide as she stares at Mickey with her little hands on her hips, looking absolutely scandalized at Mickey's language.

Ian lets a laugh bubble out at that, and he receives a giant smile from Franny and a death glare from his husband in return. 

"Don't wake me up at ass o'clock in the morning, and you won't hear any _swears_ ," Mickey counters, his soft tone contradicting the harshness of his words. 

Ian huffs another laugh at that—because, really, who does Mickey think he's kidding?—and earns himself a little kick under the covers for his trouble.

" _Breakfast_ , Uncle Mickey!" Franny insists, bouncing down onto her bottom and reaching out to shake Mickey's shoulder again.

For his part, Mickey smiles at her before succumbing to a yawn and sprawling into a stretch. "All right, munchkin," Mickey presses out mid-yawn, the words mangled a bit, but clear enough that Franny understands and claps her little hands happily. With an affectionate smile, Mickey reaches out to ruffle her hair, and she giggles as she swats playfully at his hands. "Head downstairs, kid. I'll be down in a sec."

"'Kay," Franny agrees excitedly, placated for the moment as she climbs down off the bed and skips out the door.

Mickey lets out an exaggerated sigh as he presses his fingers against his eyes and tries to blink away the exhaustion. "So much for that last fifteen minutes, huh?" he says to no one, really, but the empty room.

For a moment, Ian watches him carefully, reaching out after a few seconds to let his hand sprawl over Mickey's chest, fingers stroking gently over Mickey's skin. "Want me to get her?" Ian offers softly. "I could get her started, at least."

" _Fuck_ , no," Mickey counters immediately, draping a hand over Ian's and giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. "You need your sleep. Don't want you fallin' asleep on the rig." With another sigh, he pushes up and leans over to press a quick kiss to Ian's lips. "Go back to sleep, Ian. Franny and I are good."

Ian nods and smiles a little sadly, hoping Mickey doesn't notice. But he won't pretend he's not exhausted. He knows Mickey is, too, but Mickey's also been pushing Ian to keep himself well rested and on routine. Even though Mickey won't admit it—insists it's just because Ian's helping save lives and Mickey's just chasing down assholes trying to steal sweaters—but Ian knows Mickey's worried about his disorder. Ian worries, too, sometimes, but he also hates that Mickey's stretching himself to his limits to take care of Ian and the family. And he hates that they've hardly had time for one another since literally the day after their wedding. 

As Mickey drags on a t-shirt and heads downstairs to get Franny ready for school, Ian lets out a tired sigh and settles back into bed, snuggling close to Mickey's pillow to breathe in his husband’s scent. 

It only takes him moments to fall back into a deep sleep.

* * *

When Ian wanders downstairs an hour later, he finds Franny licking peanut butter off her fingers and giggling while Mickey tries to keep her still enough to braid pigtails into her hair. Ian can't help but smile fondly at the scene as he watches from the door frame. Franny spots him before long, though, bright eyes wide as she exclaims "Uncle Ian!" and throws a hand up to try to shove at a piece of loose hair falling toward her eyes.

"Ah!" Mickey clucks, catching her wrist just in time to keep her from smearing peanut butter through his handiwork. "I don't think so, Pippi Longstocking! Keep those hands outta your hair till they're washed."

With a dramatic sigh, Franny drops her hand back to her breakfast plate and gives Ian her best exasperated expression. Ian laughs out loud as he moves toward them, tickling Franny's neck to draw a little giggle out of her before leaning in to peck Mickey's lips. "Gettin' pretty good at that, Uncle Mickey" Ian praises as Mickey carefully wraps the tiny rubber band around the end of the braid to secure it. Ian's legitimately impressed—six months ago, they'd both been clueless and Franny'd had to give them braiding lessons herself on one of her Barbie dolls. Ian's still not sure he knows how to do it right, but Mickey seems to have a knack for it.

"Yeah, well," Mickey dismisses, framing Franny's cheeks with his palms, so she tips her head back to look up at him, "it'd be a lot easier if _someone_ could sit still for 30 seconds and stop finger paintin' with her breakfast." Franny grins at that and shoves a finger in her mouth to suck the peanut butter off. Mickey just rolls his eyes fondly and then leans down to smack a kiss to her forehead. "Go wash your hands, Peter Pan," he instructs, pulling her chair back and helping her down, so she can scurry off to the bathroom to clean up.

Ian tries to reach for him once Franny's out of the room, but Mickey immediately busies himself tidying up after Franny, seemingly unaware of Ian's advances. Ian's shoulders slump a little as he watches after Mickey. For his part, Ian tries to clean up Franny's remaining dishes, but Mickey swoops in before he can, scooping up what remains while wiping down the surface of the table with a damp paper towel.

As Mickey works, Ian barely has time to process the flurry of his husband's movements, and he has the sudden urge to slow Mickey down. " _Mick_ ," he insists gently, "I can help, you know."

It takes a second for Mickey to process the words, but once he does, he nods a little, never so much as lifting his eyes in Ian's direction, though, as he pulls down a couple more plates. "Can you make sure Liam's up? He's gonna be late if he doesn't get down here soon, and he needs to eat somethin' before school."

"Already done," Ian assures with a little smile as he watches Mickey pile french toast and bacon on the plates in front of him, "he's in the shower now."

"Yeah?" Mickey questions, turning to shoot Ian a surprised but thankful glance, lips tilting into a mischievous smile. "Sure that's a good idea? Not gonna be any hot water left for your ass."

"Gonna need a cold shower anyway, watchin' you be all domestic," Ian murmurs out, closing the distance between them in a couple of quick strides and sidling up behind Mickey to press a kiss to his husband’s neck before pulling the spatula out of Mickey's grip. "Go sit down," Ian orders when Mickey turns annoyed eyes on him. "I can make a couple plates. You take a break."

Mickey deflates a little at that, but in the best way, the tension releasing from his shoulders as he sinks back in Ian's arms for just a moment. "You sure?" he confirms, closing his eyes against the little _mhmm_ Ian hums into his neck. Mickey smiles a little then, pushing away from Ian and sitting himself down at the kitchen table. He can’t quite turn it off all the way, though, calling a concerned "let's go, Fran!" after their mischievous niece who's been gone a little too long for Mickey's liking.

"I here, Uncle Mickey!" she announces as she scurries out of the bathroom, shoving at the flyaway hairs framing her face with still wet hands. 

"You didn't even dry your hands, rugrat?" Mickey exclaims, all playful exasperation that has Franny in giggles as she wipes the excess water away on her shirt.

"All dry!" she beams, holding her hands up high for inspection. 

Mickey just shakes his head and scoops her up into his lap right as Ian lays a plate in front of him. Mickey starts to protest, but Ian fixes him with pointed glare, and he gives in, scooping up the fork to dig into the food on his plate. "You know, I coulda taken care of that shit, man," Mickey insists as he watches Ian lay out Liam's plate and his own before pouring himself and Mickey each a cup of coffee.

"Hush," Ian tells him gently. "Eat your breakfast, Mick. You don't have to do it all alone, you know."

Mickey nods a little at that, shoving another bite of french toast into his mouth. After a moment, he murmurs out, "I don't mind, you know," as he lifts his eyes to meet Ian's, "gotta do what you gotta do sometimes, right?"

And yeah, Ian knows. It's kind of the very thing Ian's concerned about. He nods a little, keeping his eyes on Mickey as he watches Franny beg for a bite and smile happily when Mickey offers her a forkful of his breakfast before she burrows back against Mickey's chest and snuggles her head into his shoulder. Ian's heart nearly stops at that—a deep happiness settling over him in spite of his fears as he watches his husband chatter lovingly with their niece. 

When Mickey notices the happy smile on Ian's face, he smiles back, even as Franny continues talking his ear off about god knows what. Ian's pretty sure she's waxing poetic about the benefits of adding peanut butter to french toast while she continues to steal bits of Mickey's breakfast, and Ian can't help but laugh when Mickey sighs dramatically and shifts to the side so he can look down into her face as he shakes his head. "Do you want another piece?" he asks her, all faux irritation. "You want peanut butter on this shit, you're eatin' your own."

"Uh-uh!" Franny protests, shaking her head violently and reaching to grasp at the fork Mickey still holds. "Want yours!"

 _And isn't that just the rub with kids?_ Ian thinks briefly with a fond smile at Franny's antics. His thoughts are cut short, though, when Liam bounds down the stairs, bookbag in hand and looking sharply put together, as usual.

"Morning!" Liam greets, dumping his bookbag near the door for easy access later and then moving to dig a mug out of the cupboard.

"Morning!" Franny parrots, chewing dramatically and bopping her head, but never lifting her eyes from Mickey's plate.

When Liam moves to reach for the coffee pot, Mickey stops him with a harsh "Aye! I don't think so," fixing Liam with a challenging stare. "Put it back. You're ten. You're not drinkin' my fuckin' coffee. Gonna stunt your growth."

"But I need to be awake for class," Liam presses, hand still poised to pour.

"It's fuckin' decafe, anyway," Mickey scoffs, waving a hand at Liam in a vague _put it down_ gesture. "Ain't gonna do shit to keep you awake. Get yourself some fuckin' juice and eat your breakfast."

"Frank would let me," Liam mutters under his breath just loud enough for them to hear, and Ian snorts a laugh into his coffee, nearly choking and sputtering a little as he sets the cup down. Liam likes to challenge them sometimes, but the Frank thing is a new one.

"That’s 'cause Frank's a piece of shit. You think that's gonna win you any arguments?" Mickey scoffs. "Let's go. Eat your breakfast. We gotta leave in fifteen."

Liam sighs in defeat at that, clambering over to the table with a glass of orange juice in hand. He digs into his breakfast right away and then pauses for a second after the first bite. He gives Mickey a contemplative look for a second and then murmurs, mouth full, "This is good. Thanks, Mickey."

"Yeah, yeah," Mickey dismisses, even as Ian can see the little rush of pride that settles over him in the way his lips tilt up in a smile. Mickey tries to hide it behind his coffee cup, but Ian sees and smiles back just a little, catching Mickey's eye and causing his husband to blush at the unspoken praise. "You're welcome," Mickey directs at Liam, "Now eat up."

Liam nods and complies, chewing happily and keeping his full focus on his breakfast, only interjecting with a couple of questions about who's on pickup and whether he should meet Franny at her classroom at the end of the day. When Franny hears that one, she claps her hands and lets out a happy little shriek. "Yes!" she exclaims in Liam's direction, "visit class!"

Ian smiles and gives Liam a little shrug. "Looks like you got your answer."

Liam smiles, and Ian and Mickey watch him with fond affection. "Okay, okay," Liam concedes, and Ian and Mickey share a smile at that. They both know Liam pretends to be annoyed at his niece—and sometimes she does irritate him to no end—but they all know Liam has a soft spot for Franny (hell, they all do, really, because the kid is just so fucking _charming_ ), and Liam can't help but beam a little because Franny wants to show off her uncle.

As Liam finishes up his breakfast, Mickey gets up, settling Franny down on the chair to finish off the few remaining pieces of french toast from Mickey's plate before moving to the fridge. Mickey busies himself pulling out the kids' lunchboxes and double-checking the contents before heading back to the table with them, passing Liam's over to him and then dropping Franny's into her grasping hands. She grins happily, inspecting the colorful kittens than adorn the front and murmuring _KIT-TY, KIT-TY_ under her breath. Mickey huffs a laugh at that, and Franny turns bright eyes on Mickey, giggling at the way he shakes his head fondly and then singing a little louder for Mickey to hear.

After a moment, she calms down, little giggles still bubbling up every now and then as Mickey ruffles her hair. "All right, Ginger Spice, let's get a move on. Go give your Uncle Ian a kiss goodbye, and I'll grab your bookbag," Mickey instructs, helping her down from her chair, careful not to disrupt the lunchbox still clutched tightly in her little hands. "Liam, you, too."

Franny follows Mickey's instructions to a T—pattering over to Ian, and flinging her arms out for him, nearly sending her lunch flying in the process. Ian laughs and lifts her into his arms for a second, giving her a squeeze and smacking a kiss to her cheek. Franny returns the affection, calling a loud "Bye-bye, Uncle Ian! Love you!" and then giggling as Ian swoops her over into Mickey's waiting arms, where Mickey takes a moment to situate her on his hip. Mickey then swings her backpack up over her head and unceremoniously drops one of the straps down past her shoulders. She laughs boisterously at that, smiling big and then snuggling down into Mickey's arms, content to let him carry her out the door.

A little awkwardly, Mickey manages to find his way to the kitchen door, opening it carefully and holding it ajar with a pointed look at Liam, who rolls his eyes with a shake of his head, but complies anyway.

"I can get to class myself, you know?" Liam protests as he slings his backpack over his shoulder and meets Mickey at the door.

"All right, smartass," Mickey chastises as he hooks a hand over the back of Liam's head and gives him a playful little shove toward the door, "fuckin' humor me."

"I'm just saying," Liam insists with a shrug.

Mickey shakes his head in disbelief, "Yeah, well, we're goin' to the same fuckin' place, and I'm not sendin' you with a four year old, so here we are."

Mickey's already swinging the door shut as he continues bickering with Liam over Franny's frustrated insistence on _no swears_ , and Ian's already exhausted _for_ Mickey as he watches them retreat.

And maybe he's a little disappointed in the lack of goodbye, as he murmurs the words " _love you_ " after his retreating husband, making sure to keep his voice low enough that Mickey won't hear—he knows Mickey has good reason for his absent-mindedness, even if Ian is feeling irrationally neglected.

But a few minutes later, when he knows Mickey's got the kids safely on the L, his phone dings three times in quick succession, and he opens it to three new text messages from Mickey: _Love you_ and _Sorry_ and _Talk tonight_. It leaves Ian smiling fondly as he sends off a quick _Love you, too_ before downing the rest of his coffee and heading off to finish getting ready for work.

* * *

When Mickey gets home from his late evening shift, it's nearly 10:00pm, and he finds Liam in front of the TV watching some nature documentary or some shit. 

"Hey," Liam greets, barely glancing Mickey's way, and Mickey gives him a nod in return.

"Hey, kid," Mickey offers as he kicks off his shoes, "what're you doin' up? Gotta be up early tomorrow."

Liam rolls his eyes, unimpressed with the casual parenting. "Just wanna finish this," he insists, pointing to the TV. "I'll go at ten."

It's late, and Mickey's not looking for a fight, so he shrugs it off. "Okay," he concedes with a half sigh. "Where's your brother?"

"Kitchen." Liam points half-heartedly in the direction of the kitchen. "He's heating up some dinner for you."

Mickey nods his thanks and makes his way toward the kitchen to find his husband, calling over his shoulder, "bed by ten, man," without bothering to wait for Liam's response. Kid's turning into a teenager, Mickey thinks, and Gallagher kids aren't always fond of structure. Mickey can't blame him; Milkoviches aren't exactly known for their structured upbringing, either. But Mickey and Ian have shit to do that can't exactly be moved around, and they're not budging on keeping the kids on a schedule—at least until Debbie's out—so Liam's just gonna have to fucking deal.

When he moves into the kitchen, he finds Ian standing at the stove, apparently reheating dinner, and it makes Mickey smile softly to himself as he sidles up behind his husband, slipping his arms around Ian's waist as Ian melts back into him, immediately recognizing Mickey's touch. "Hey," Mickey murmurs as he presses a kiss to the shell of Ian's ear.

"Hey, yourself," Ian greets, smile tilting at the corners of his mouth, as he tilts his head toward Mickey to accept a quick _hello_ kiss. "You're a little early."

"Yeah, wasn't busy tonight," Mickey confides as he breaks away from Ian to grab a beer out of the fridge. "Got shit done for close earlier than expected, so we were able to cut out a couple minutes early."

Ian nods, happy Mickey's home, but immediately noticing the tight set of his shoulders and the weary sigh he lets out as he settles himself at the table. "You okay?" Ian asks, just because he can and he wants to offer a little support. He knows the answer already.

"Yeah, man," Mickey confides, popping off the top of his beer and taking a long swig before continuing, "this retail shit is just kickin' my ass. People fuckin' suck." 

Ian laughs out loud at that, and Mickey grins at the sound. For a moment, they fall into a comfortable silence, Ian working at the stove while Mickey watches the way his shoulders move beneath the tattered t-shirt he wears. Sometimes Mickey still can't believe that they're here—that they somehow made it through—and they get to have this, for real this time around.

It's only a few moments before Ian's plating up the food, and depositing it in front of Mickey. As soon as it's out of his hands, he shifts to dig his fingers into Mickey's shoulders, massaging away the tightness there for a few moments before dropping a kiss into Mickey's hair. "Eat up," he orders with a smile, and Mickey does as he's told.

"You know," Mickey insists thoughtfully, "you didn't have to do this shit, man. I coulda just tossed it in the microwave."

"It's just hot dogs and mac and cheese, Mick. Not a big deal," Ian insists, shifting over to take the seat beside his husband as Mickey nods his thanks.

They go quiet again for a few moments as Mickey eats and Ian watches him. When Mickey's nearly finished, Ian reaches out to draw Mickey's left hand into his own, shifting a little so he can reach comfortably. A little smile tips at Mickey's lips as Ian plays with the rings on Mickey's finger, twisting them a bit and then rubbing gently at the skin around them. It's a habit Ian's taken to any time he can reach Mickey's rings, an indication of the awe he still feels at the fact that Mickey's his and that Mickey wears his love proudly on his finger, something Ian had once believed he would never dare. Sometimes it drives Mickey a little bit nuts, but he'd never stop the affection Ian shows him over the rings they wear.

When Mickey's done, they stay that way for a few moments, happy just being together as they twine their fingers and smile in the happy quiet they so rarely get to have. It's not until they hear Liam heading up the stairs that their silent companionship is broken, changing the tone a little, as Ian sits back and examines Mickey's face for a moment, a little unsure, but determined. 

"Hey, Mick," he murmurs out, tone turning serious as he lets his eyes fall down to their hands where they're still joined, fingers still playing with Mickey's rings, "can we maybe talk a little?"

Mickey catches his eye, and they both know it's an important conversation that's coming, something Mickey's not ready to fucking deal with. Ian's eyes are pleading, but Mickey counters anyway, tired and ready for a break as he drags his hand away from Ian's. "I don't wanna fuckin' talk, Ian," Mickey insists, absolute exasperation and exhaustion dripping from his tone. "Come on, man, I'm fuckin' tired. Can we just go to bed? I've gotta be up early with the kid."

And yeah, maybe bringing the whole thing up immediately after Mickey's late shift wasn't the best timing, but that's exactly the thing Ian wants to talk about. He sighs as he watches Mickey, who leans back in his chair with closed eyes and folds his hands behind his neck. He really does look exhausted, so Ian's not going to push, but they need to talk. "Yeah, Mick, we can go to bed," Ian agrees, defeated, "but can we talk tomorrow, then?"

"Fuckin' hell, Gallagher," Mickey grumbles, drawing a hand over his face as he sits forward to catch Ian's eye. "Yeah, we can talk tomorrow. After work or some shit. We'll figure it out. The fuck's this about anyway?"

For a second, Ian lowers his eyes and shrugs with a little frown, unsure how to broach the topic—especially if they're going to leave it for tomorrow. 

Apparently, Ian's quiet for a little too long, because Mickey lets out a long-suffering sigh. "Spit it the fuck out, Gallagher, so I can get some fuckin' sleep."

Ian sighs a little himself, eyes still downturned. "I just," he begins with another little shrug, "I guess I wanna talk about us. We haven't really had any time together lately." He's trying to be gentle and a little vague, but when he lifts his eyes to Mickey's, he knows instantly that he fucked up.

Mickey scoffs, drawing his arms in to cross over his chest. "You fuckin' serious?" Mickey's voice drips with disbelief as he glares in Ian's direction. "I've been bustin' my ass to take care of our goddamn family because your fuckin' sister got herself thrown in the joint and your brothers can't be fuckin' bothered with Franny or Liam, and you're gonna sit here and bitch about us not havin' enough couple time or some shit?"

And Mickey's suddenly pissed—Ian knows it's because he chose the wrong words and because he's overtired, and Ian knows he probably should have just let it go until they were both more rested and ready to have a real conversation. 

But all that aside, Ian can't help the goofy smile that covers his features as he stares at his irate husband.

"The fuck you smilin' at?" Mickey chastises, intensifying his glare in Ian's direction, which only serves to make Ian smile wider as he stands and moves the few steps to Mickey's side.

Smile never leaving his features, Ian shoves carefully at Mickey until he scoots himself back far enough for Ian to settle himself over Mickey's lap, a tactic that brings them face-to-face, as he frames Mickey's jaw with his hands and lets his thumbs stroke gently over his husband's cheeks, the rasp of Mickey's five o'clock shadow bringing an even bigger smile to Ian's face. For his part, Mickey's trying his damndest to keep the scowl on his face, but the little clench of his jaw that keeps his lips from tipping into a smile and the way his hands find Ian's thighs give him away.

After another moment of silence as Ian just takes in Mickey's features, an impatient Mickey raises his eyebrows in that goofy, expectant way he does sometimes that makes Ian think those brows might actually merge with his hairline. It's Mickey's _get the fuck on with it_ face, though, and Ian finally gives in after a moment, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to Mickey's lips, smile still firmly in place.

Ian keeps close to Mickey then, catching and holding his husband's eyes as they breathe the same air; Mickey softening visibly at Ian's renewed affection. "You said _our_ family," Ian confides on a quiet whisper.

Mickey lets a little chuckle bubble out at that, a genuine smile spreading across his features. "You're such a fuckin' sap, Gallagher," Mickey accuses with a fond shake of his head, leaning up for another soft kiss from Ian. "Now can we go the fuck to bed and deal with this shit tomorrow?"

Ian nods, clambering off of Mickey's lap with a gracelessness that makes Ian wonder for a moment how he ever got by as a fuckin' dancer. Mickey laughs at him outright, and Ian just flips him off with one hand while using the other to drag Mickey up off the chair and toward their bedroom.

* * *

The next day, they keep to their morning routine, but Ian's arranged for Lip to pick up the kids from their summer classes. He hasn't told Mickey yet, hoping to surprise him when he gets home. Mickey's on a shorter shift, and he should be home by seven, so Ian busies himself with dinner and hopes Mickey won't object to the change of expectation.

When Mickey does come through the door, Ian hears him call out for Franny, and when no little footsteps come running, Mickey makes his way into the kitchen, a worried look on his face when he doesn't find her there with Ian.

"Where's Franny?" Mickey asks, a little bit of restrained concern hidden under his tone.

Ian turns to Mickey, smile bright as he catches Mickey's eye. "Lip and Tami offered to take her and Liam for the night," Ian explains, meeting Mickey halfway and pressing a kiss to his lips. "We've got the whole night for ourselves."

For his part, Mickey looks confused. He kisses Ian back, but doesn't seem convinced by the explanation, brow furrowing as he tries to process what's happening. He takes in Ian's appearance, and the dinner cooking away on the stove—two expensive cuts of steak, broccoli, and what smells like potatoes baking as Ian turns back to their dinner.

"What's this shit all about, Ian," Mickey asks, confused at the big show Ian's making. He knows Ian's been feeling a little neglected lately, but he hadn't been expecting a fucking candlelit dinner, and he _certainly_ hadn't been expecting a kid-free night.

"What do you mean _what's this shit all about_?" Ian questions, the confusion evident in his voice as he works away at the stove, the steaks sizzling away as Ian tosses the broccoli a bit in the sauté pan, never once looking back up at Mickey.

"What do you mean, _what do I mean_?" Mickey counters. " _Ian_. What the fuck's with the big dinner and shit?"

There's a bit of a clatter when Ian turns shocked eyes on him, accidentally dropping the utensils to the stove as he shifts toward Mickey. "You fuckin' serious?" Ian asks in disbelief as he watches Mickey for a moment, hoping to find the joke. When he finds only confusion in Mickey's eyes, he sighs a little and adds, " _Look_ at the calendar, Mickey."

After a second of staring, Mickey recognizes the little hint of hurt in his husband’s eyes and glances to the calendar on the wall. It's less than a moment before it hits him—he can’t actually read the words there from across the room, but he can see the large gold circle adorning the calendar and he can just make out the 26 that stares back, unyielding. Mickey's face falls immediately as he realizes his mistake, turning his eyes back to lock on Ian's. "Oh, _fuck_ , Ian," he mumbles out, regret reverberating in his tone. "It's not—?" he begs, hoping Ian might tell him that's wrong, that it's something else— _anything else_.

Ian nods, pressing his lips tight and sighing a little in defeat. "Yeah, yeah, it is," Ian murmurs out, keeping his eyes averted to try to hide his disappointment. He'd hoped—really and truly hoped—that Mickey had just been pretending; that he'd remembered that today was their 6 month, and the busy morning had just gotten in the way. But Ian should have known it was wishful thinking. And he couldn't blame Mickey for the oversight, not with everything they'd had on their plates. Not with the kids and parole and work. It was a lot, and to think that Mickey would be paying attention to something as silly as a 6 month anniversary wasn't entirely fair, Ian thinks. But it still hurts a little.

When Ian keeps his eyes averted for a moment too long, Mickey steps up into Ian's space, gentle fingers finding Ian's hips as he tries to will Ian's eyes back to his own. "Hey," Mickey whispers after a moment, and Ian finally lifts sad eyes to Mickey's, even as he tries his best to hide the emotion there. Mickey sees it, though—Mickey always sees it. "I am _so_ sorry, Ian," Mickey whispers out, reaching up with a gentle hand to cradle Ian's cheek, thumb stroking gently at Ian's skin. "I _will_ make this up to you. I swear I will."

" _No_ ," Ian protests, letting his eyes fall shut for a moment as he blankets Mickey's hand with his own, pulling Mickey's palm away just far enough to press a kiss there, squeezing his husband's fingers gently as he smiles against Mickey's skin. "Nothin' for you to make up for," Ian murmurs, letting Mickey's hand go, so he can wrap his arms up around Mickey's neck. "You've been taking care of all of us. Done so much for me, for the kids. I fuckin' love you for everything, Mickey. Don't have anything to make up for."

Mickey's not fully convinced. Knows Ian means every word, but it doesn't make Mickey feel any better about overlooking a major milestone in their marriage. It's no wonder Ian's been feeling a little neglected. He frowns a little and catches Ian’s eye before pushing up on his toes to press a kiss to Ian's lips. "I'm a shitty husband," Mickey murmurs in apology when they part, drawing a little smile to Ian's lips.

With another peck against the corner of Mickey's mouth, Ian hums happily in protest "mm-mmm, Mick. You're the _best_ husband."

"Only one you got," Mickey counters playfully, tickling his fingers over Ian's sides and drawing a big happy smile out of Ian.

"Only one I want," Ian insists, fingers stroking through Mickey's hair as he leans in for another kiss. "I love you, Mickey."

"Yeah, yeah," Mickey scoffs, unable to keep his lips from tilting up with the warm feeling that blooms in his chest at Ian's praise. "I love you, too, you giant fuckin' sap. Now back to work," Mickey insists playfully, pulling back and swatting at Ian's ass as Ian rolls his eyes and turns back to the stove. "Don't burn the steak, bitch."

* * *

While Ian’s finishing up dinner, Mickey takes a quick shower and digs out a nice, deep blue button-down. He's not sure if it's his own or Ian's, but he throws it on with a pair of black denim jeans and takes a moment to smooth down his hair. It's probably stupid, he thinks, but he wants to at least do a little something special for Ian. The least he can do is make himself look halfway decent for the man he loves. 

It's ten minutes start to finish before Mickey's taking the stairs two at a time to get back to his husband. Ian hears him coming and turns with a smile to greet Mickey again as he returns to the kitchen. Mickey looks almost nervous, and Ian feels his heart flutter a little at the sight of his husband. Ian takes a moment to just stare, drinking in the sight of Mickey in all his glory; the deep blue of his shirt splashing extra color into his eyes and the soft fall of his dark hair over his forehead providing a stark contrast, bringing forward that glowing blue that Ian loves. After a moment, Mickey starts to fidget a little under Ian's scrutiny, and it breaks Ian from his haze. 

"Wow," Ian finally breathes out, eyes roaming over Mickey one more time, "don't think you've looked this good with clothes on since our wedding."

Mickey bites back a laugh, and maybe he even blushes a little, as he shakes his head at Ian, a happy smile stretching over his lips. "All right, asshole," he scolds, moving to make himself comfortable at the kitchen table, "where the fuck's dinner? Let's eat. I'm fuckin' hungry."

Ian huffs a laugh at that, unable to keep the glow of happiness from settling over his features as he finishes plating up their meal. It only takes him a moment, and then he's heading over to the table with two plates in hand, wrinkling his nose up a bit at his handiwork. 

"I don't think I'm a very good cook," Ian confides, defeated, as he sets the overdone steak in front of Mickey and flashes an apologetic smile at his husband before he settles down with his own plate, taking the seat right next to Mickey.

Mickey chuckles a little, allowing a fond smile to stretch across his lips as he catches Ian's eye before wrapping a gentle hand around the back of Ian's neck and drawing Ian in close. With a sheepish smile, Ian nuzzles into Mickey's shoulder for a second, breathing Mickey in and settling into the comfortable familiarity. 

After a moment, Mickey presses his lips into Ian's hair before playfully shoving him away. "Shut the fuck up, bitch," Mickey scolds, grabbing for the fork and steak knife set out beside his plate. "It looks fuckin' excellent."

Ian smiles at that, big and happy, as he watches Mickey dig into his meal for a moment before he follows suit, the two of them quickly falling into the familiar banter Ian loves so much.

And even after all this time, Ian feels weak in the knees every time he sees the happy shine in Mickey's eyes.

* * *

Mickey doesn't so much as mention the kids until nearly an hour later when they're curled around one another on the couch watching some crappy old movie and just enjoying the closeness they haven't been able to share—not really, anyway—through much of their marriage.

But Mickey asks it anyway, and Ian thinks maybe it's because of the quiet they're sharing and the subtle reminder of the bedtime routine they keep with Franny.

When everything had gone down, it had taken some time for Franny to come to terms with Debbie's absence. They'd battled a lot of sleepless nights and a lot of scared, angry tantrums while Franny begged for her mother with big, wet tears that broke both their hearts.

Ian remembers vividly the night about a month in when he'd found Mickey with his legs tucked up in the armchair, a slumbering Franny snuggled in his lap with her head resting in the crook of Mickey's neck—both of them fast asleep and Franny wearing her flower girl dress (a 'dress-up' compromise they'd discovered a couple of weeks earlier that placated her long enough for a breather). That night had been a turning point for the three of them; Mickey taking to rocking Franny to sleep in the chair on tantrum nights while he hummed nonsensically into her hair, and then transferring her carefully to her bed afterwards. Ian's not sure whether it's a great routine in the long run, but it'd given them a reprieve and a way of helping Franny get some much needed rest. And tantrums had been steadily decreasing since that night, Franny falling into their new routines more easily and readily accepting Mickey and Ian’s new place in her life.

And that routine had become a bit of a comfort to Mickey, too, Ian thinks. A kind of reminder that they're doing okay, and that they've figured shit out and gotten to a place where all of them—even Franny, who'd been so very heartbroken over her mother's loss, even if temporary—had fallen into a rhythm that _worked_. It meant, in a lot of ways, that Ian and Mickey could make it on the outside; that they could manage jobs and family and a normal, stable existence. It meant, maybe one day, that they could handle kids of their own.

And, really, Ian knows Mickey loves Franny and worries when she's away from them. 

So Mickey asks, playing self-consciously with Ian's fingers, and keeping his eyes averted from Ian's as he tries to hide his concern. "You think they're okay?" he murmurs out, almost too quiet for Ian to hear, "with Lip and Tami, I mean?"

Ian smiles soft, his free hand moving to play in Mickey's hair. "Yeah, Mick," Ian promises, "I made Liam promise to call if Franny gets upset and Lip can't handle it for some reason. He can, though. They'll be fine."

Mickey nods in agreement, even though Ian can see he's not fully convinced. "This is just for tonight, right?" Mickey questions, glancing up into Ian's eyes, a softness and open vulnerability there that Ian loves.

"For tonight, yeah. They'll be home tomorrow afternoon," Ian clarifies, still gently stroking at Mickey's hair. "But Lip and Tami agreed to take the kids twice a month for sleepovers. That way, you and I can have the whole evening to ourselves every now and then. And I think we deserve that, don't you?"

With a soft smile, Mickey nods again, catching Ian's eye and leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his husband's lips. "I love you," Mickey murmurs in thanks, staying close enough to feel Ian's smile and the brush of his lips when he whispers his response.

"I love you, too."

And it's funny, Mickey thinks, how easy the words come now, after all their years together and all the struggle and hurt and loss and goodbye. It's a strange feeling still, when he thinks about it, that they get to say how they feel out loud every day, and that they get to wear their love on their fingers in testament to everything they've been through, and that they get to just _exist_ in what is maybe a mundane day to day, but it's _theirs_ , and it's something they'd never imagined they'd have once upon a time.

When he pulls away, Mickey settles back against Ian's chest, the warmth of being here with the man he loves reverberating in his chest, even as a little pang of discontent sits in the back of his mind. He sighs a little, snuggling deeper into Ian's arms. After long moments of quiet—just the sound of the television playing in the background—Mickey finally asks curiously, "Is it weird that I miss them? The kids, I mean? When it hasn't even been twenty four hours?"

A slow smile spreads over Ian's lips at that. And after a beat, he finally answers, voice sincere, a little bit of awe coloring his tone. "You're gonna be a really good dad, Mick," Ian whispers, shifting a little, so he can tuck his forehead against Mickey's cheek to nuzzle his skin softly.

Mickey barks out a little laugh at that, the softness between them suddenly turning a little playful as he lets his fingers stray to Ian's hair and shifts around until he's straddling Ian's hips. "I'll take the compliment," Mickey agrees, smiling at the praise. The idea's starting to grow on him, Ian knows, but he also knows Mickey's proud of the way they've been able to step up for Franny and for Liam, and Ian loves him even more deeply for that. Mickey tugs at Ian's hair a little, pressing a peck just beside the corner of Ian's eye, and then continues, "but how about we wait till Franny and Freddie are old enough to babysit, yeah? Make sure we got some help around this place."

Ian laughs at that himself, fingers tickling over Mickey's back. "Liam'll be officially old enough to babysit in like two years," he teases a little bit hopefully, even though he knows it would be stupid—and probably impossible—to start thinking seriously about kids any time soon.

Mickey's not having it either, though, clicking his tongue at Ian with a shake of his head. "I don't think so, Gallagher," Mickey disagrees. "Liam's the smart one. Kid needs to focus on school, so we can send his ass to college, and he can get us all outta this shithole."

Ian chuckles again and pinches Mickey's thigh. "That didn't go over well with Lip, you know," he counters, pulling back with raised brows to watch Mickey's reaction.

"No shit," Mickey scoffs, even as the fondness in his voice betrays him. "That's 'cause Lip's a fuckin' dumbass. Liam's smart, _and_ he's not an arrogant dickbag."

"You got me there," Ian shrugs with a mischievous smile. "Can't be too hard on Lip, though. He's helpin' us out. Plus, he's a real good dad."

"Yeah, yeah," Mickey concedes with a playful smile. "Guess he turned out okay. Tami set his ass straight."

At that, Ian shrugs a little in agreement. Mickey's not wrong. Tami's been good for Lip, Ian thinks, and Freddie's been good for both of them.

"So, two nights a month, huh?" Mickey asks with an eyebrow raise and a tilt at the corner of his lips, and Ian has a feeling he's up to something.

"Yeah," Ian agrees, eyeing Mickey curiously.

"Hmm," Mickey nods a little at that, giving Ian a look, "you realize Debbie's gonna be out in like two months, maybe sooner?"

Ian scoffs at that, rolling his eyes playfully and pinching Mickey's hip. "All right, smartass, maybe it's not amazing or anything, but I'm just happy I get to spend my anniversary with my husband."

"It's six months, Ian," Mickey teases fondly, "not even a real anniversary."

"Fuck off," Ian mumbles out as he presses his lips to the crook of Mickey's throat. "Is so. It's like when you have a kid—every month is a milestone till you hit the first year."

"Ten years, Ian," Mickey reminds firmly, a happy smile playing on his lips. " _Ten years_. I'm not doin' this shit again for a _while_."

Ian just laughs at that, big and loud and happy as he drags Mickey close and presses a kiss to his lips. And Ian thinks maybe it really is okay.

Kids can wait. Right now, Ian just wants to be with his husband. (And maybe help take care of the family they already have.)

* * *

  
  



End file.
